


like a drowned rat

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, i have no idea if this would even be considered willowson, maxwell and wickerbottom barely appear in the fic bc i have no idea how to write them, maybe a willowson friendship????, near-death, willow doesn't speak much because i can't write her very well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 03:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21219938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: Inevitably, one of them ends up absolutely soaking wet.





	like a drowned rat

There was knowledge to be gained from the lunar isles.

An island made from a chunk of the moon, past the brine shoals and 'natural' salt formations, past the ever-spawning Cookie Cutters and past the stacked rock formations that threatened to capsize the boat they shared with each other.

Wilson estimated they'd be there in about a day or so.

For the moment, though, Willow was humming a song. Akin to a pirate shanty, really, but it was a decent distraction from the seawater that would get flung up at them whenever one of the four people failed at getting the timing down for rowing.

Three of them would take turns, mostly because Willow absolutely hated getting wet if it wasn't necessary. There wasn't any point in causing their mental states to dip further, what with having to eat kelp as their food stocks dwindled.

Wilson flinched a little as he straightened his posture, mostly to avoid a scolding from Wickerbottom and partially because it was starting to hurt his back.

A low huff as he quickly picked up a small pile of seeds.

(Somehow, these floated. He wasn't entirely sure how. The laws of physics in this realm were already slightly skewed, what with being able to store literal chunks of flooring in his pockets.)

He hated the idea of eating a wet pile of seeds, but he couldn't exactly wait for them to dry off.

Well, maybe he could, but his stomach was saying otherwise. There was already that vague feeling of hunger, and he didn't particularly want it to get any worse, thank-you.

He blinked, before stashing them in his pocket. He wasn't that bad off at the moment. Besides, they'd probably be able to scrounge up some halfway decent, raw ingredients for food later, once they got to the lunar island. Probably.

(It'd be something new for Warly to cook with. The man often lamented being unable to experiment with food recipes much.)

Wilson didn't quite remember the first trip to the lunar island, only that the warrior lady was dragging him over to the boat. He'd felt… tired?

Something about him going towards some weird light things and passing out when one of them dashed through him.

The warrior-- Wigfrid, she'd mentioned having to fight off some hounds that had reanimated themselves, and a pengull that was encased in rock.

He wasn't entirely sure if he could believe her, but he'd just have to see about the whole reanimated hound and rock pengull thing when he could get the chance, maybe bring her on a trip to the island again.

Wilson gingerly started rowing again, if only to try and keep the rhythm going for a little while longer. And to get the trip there to take a shorter amount of time.

.o0O0o.

He was abruptly awoken by the knotted end of a rope whacking him in the face.

And a familiar voice, easily recognized as Wickerbottom's.

"Ah, my apologies about that, dear. We've arrived. I'd like to get this sail up before we crash our vessel."

He blinked, blearily, before scrambling out of the way, then getting himself up properly.

Otherwise, Wilson remained silent as he straightened his back and smoothed his clothing over.

Maxwell briefly glanced up from his book, before clapping it shut and slipping it back into his blazer. It was hard to keep a book out of the elements here.

Willow was still asleep, and he was hesitant to wake her up. A little tap on her shoulder, then gently shaking it, producing a slight grumble from the woman as she rolled over--

And straight off the boat.

Oh dear.

If there was one thing that he knew for certain, it was that water and Willow was a match made in hell.

He saw her resurface, briefly, and held a hand out for her to grab, before she was pulled back under. He could have sworn her fingers just grazed his--

He didn't see her resurface again.

Shit.

A brief look around the area. He's not sure where she went. No need to panic, he can't panic right now, it's not the right time to.

Wilson shudders a little, wiping his hand on his slacks, and hopping off the boat and onto a mostly-untouched land.

She can't have gone far -- it'd be impossible for her to end up chucked on the mainland, right?

An anxious noise escapes him. Maxwell and Wickerbottom share a slight look at each other, and it goes mostly unnoticed, before he finally notices a body up on the shoreline of the island.

"Willow?"

Wilson practically sprints over to the body.

He's pretty sure that's Willow, on a closer inspection. She sits up, rubbing at her head a little.

They're probably going to need a booster shot for her. Sooner rather than later.

He blinks a little, gingerly helping her up. She mentions that she doesn't like being wet. He knows this, he's known it for some time.

"There's a fire pit back on the boat."

"Mmmmm. Fine. Only to get warmed up. Fffffrickin' hate being wet."

"I'm aware, love. I could set up a fire here, but I'm… not sure about doing that."

"Why not?"

"...I don't quite trust the stability of this place." A white lie. It won't hurt in the long run, surely.

"Whaddya mean by that?"

"I… can tell you when we get back on the boat."

"Screw that. It's on the waters. Don't fancy getting wetter than I already am, thanks."

Down the coastline, he can spot Maxwell lowering the anchor, and Wickerbottom checking to see if they've got everything in order.

"...Mmmm. Alright. I still think we should go back to the boat and set up a fire, it's… getting late in the day, you know?"

"I don't feel like it. It's bound to be wet and I'm already wet and the water makes everything wet."

He shrugs his waistcoat off and offers it to Willow. "At least take this. Hypothermia's a…" A brief glance to make sure that Wickerbottom isn't listening. "Hypothermia is a bitch."

A slight cackle from her. He cocks his head a little as she takes the waistcoat.

That went better than expected, at least.

.o0O0o.

They'd finished up on the lunar island, with only a single incident of someone collapsing and having to be dragged halfway to the boat before waking up.

(At least Wilson understood how Wigfrid felt when that happened.)

(Unfortunately, it was Maxwell that passed out. Wilson had to drag him over to the boat and make sure he was okay, much to the guy's eternal cantankerousness, considering he wasn't exactly verbal upon awakening.)

Wilson shifted uncomfortably, seeing a small, translucent thing pass by, slowly crawling along the ground and not paying him any mind.

Willow gives a muffled noise, already discontented from simply being on the boat.

"Hurry up, Wilson! Else we'll sail home without you!"

"We will not be doing anything of the sort, Miss Willow."

There's a brief feeling of something cold going through his chest, and he practically stumbles over to the boat, ready to hop on before--

His foot misses the edge of the boat.

It takes a second for him to fall in the water before resurfacing, gasping for air and managing to bring the upper half of his body onto the boat, before his arms give out.

Willow quickly comes to his aid, able to do what he couldn't and practically dragging him back onto the deck. Maxwell actually seems concerned, Wickerbottom is diverting all of her focus to steering the boat instead of only half.

A slight huff as he catches his breath, and then he finds himself clinging to Willow. She grumbles something about how he's getting her wet, which prompts a slight giggle in response.

Then there's soft laughter, which turns to full out cackling and dies down as quickly as it came.

He mumbles out an apology, too tired to keep clinging as tightly as he has been. He buries his face into the fabric of his waistcoat and her sweater peeking through it.

Willow idly rubs his back for a moment, before seeming to remember that she's got his waistcoat, and quickly unbuttoning it and passing it to him. He puts it on quickly to try and drown out the inevitable shivering.

The warmth doesn't last long. Maxwell chucks a couple more sticks on the fire.

He can't bring himself to move all that much. His legs feel like they're asleep.

Wilson shifts a little, shivering to try and generate what little warmth he can. Willow's usually a fair bit warmer than this.

God, his hair is soaked.

**Author's Note:**

> i genuinely have no idea if this could even be classed as romantic willowson. like, they're just good friends and wilson's just relieved that she didn't end up dying, and wilow's relieved that wilson didn't end up half-drowning because he's unfortunately an idiot.
> 
> don't hop onto the boat if you're half-asleep due to the influence of a gestalt, kids.


End file.
